


Can't Admit It

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Jealousy, POV Second Person, Pining, alcohol mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 15:52:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12345837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: You stick together like two pieces of chewed up gum, twisting and tangling all up in each other. You can never really pull away, but it isn't like you can make anything out of it, either.---A character study on some cop ocs I've been thinking about.





	Can't Admit It

**Author's Note:**

> 200% inspired by bones, but they're something else entirely now

                She’s got that little smile on her face, the one that tells you she’s expecting something. It’s the one she wears when she says something facetious, something she knows is too funny not to laugh at, something she knows she’ll get a reaction from you. She wears it when you reach for your back pocket to pay for something of hers, even if you don’t even know you’re doing it. You could map the way her lips tug upwards, just barely enough to be considered shy, but with that glow in her eyes that claim anything else. It’s one part smug, one part anticipation, and all too irresistible.

 

                Or, at least, it usually is. Not today, though, not tonight. It’s just that thought – that you can’t say no to her – that reels you back in from falling over and into its syrupy depths. You’re not quite sure what it is that’s stopping you today. Normally, when she even _suggests_ you jump, you ask for her how high she’d recommend. She’s got you on a leash, one she never pulls, but one she leads nonetheless, and all at once, you can’t _stand_ it.

 

                So, you decline her invitation to go get drinks, like the two of you always do after a case. The look falls quickly off her face and is replaced by something closer to surprise. Oh, so it is apparent to her that you wouldn’t usually decline. You wonder how much she thinks is just because you’re that kind of person, because you just like going out, or how much she knows is because of her. You wonder if she even thinks about it on a surface level, or if her reaction is almost entirely subconscious. Either way, it doesn’t really matter, you suppose.

 

                Quickly, but not quick enough, she plasters on something sly, and asks, in a tone that’s just mischievous enough to be friendly, but a little too curious, a little too eager to know, “Got a date?”

 

                “Yeah,” you answer, without any real enthusiasm, and with the expression she makes, someone would probably assume you’d just smacked her right in the nose with a two-by-four. It doesn’t feel good, to see her so out of her element by this one single word – this one single not-quite rejection of sorts – but you can’t say you’re not at least a little pleased to know this is her reaction. Something slimy in your gut twists a little, sinks it’s sharp, dirty claws right into you at this feeling, at understanding that this is wrong, awful, but you can’t help what you feel. It’s not something you can control – feeling good that she feels bad at hearing that you can’t go fucking _drink_ with her because you’ll be busy with someone else. But that doesn’t stop you from feeling guilty about it either.

 

                “With my TV,” you add on, knowingly belated, and flick your thumb over a belt loop at your waist, restraining yourself from even making a fist (too obvious) when you see her visibly straighten up at that. She looks so suddenly brighter, happy, that you’re not actually going out. It’s as if she forgot that you won’t even be drinking with her, that you’re blowing her off to sit at home, and isn’t that something. You’re not sure if knowing all her tells like this is better or worse. Overall, it makes things much better, easier, but now, in these emotional situations? Sometimes you think it would have a bit of a softer punch to the heart – a piece of you that’s purple and bruised, now, beaten too often to really ever heal – if you couldn’t tell that she’s just as stuck in this as you are.

 

                That’s the train of thought that soon leads to the one that goes something along the lines of, _maybe you should just find someone else, someone you know you can have, someone you know who’ll pick you back_. And really, you know she’d always pick you back, in all the ways that _matter_ , but not the way you really want. You’ve learned that already, learned that if you spook her, she’ll jump, that if you ask her to catch you, her arms will find themselves stuck. The only way she can really be reliable here is the way she hurts (and the way you can tell) when you mention someone else. The way she doesn’t take it to the professional level, but her personal words, actions, with you are subdued. The way she pouts, just a little, not enough to be too noticeable, but the way she’ll stare just a little harder, the way her eyes fill just enough melancholy to be so memorable that you can’t stop fucking thinking about them.

 

                But that’s how you know. You know that there’s not even any point to trying. She has you twisted so tightly around her finger, never loosening no matter how much you struggle. It isn’t even like she did it all on her own, either. You helped, showed her just the ways you liked to _twist_ , let her get so close, deep, that when it mattered, that when you realized that all it would do is leave you stuck, you couldn’t do anything about it. You wonder if you could go through with it, finding someone else, someone not her, if she wasn’t interested, if she didn’t look like you were just sinking little fishhooks into her skin when you tried. But, then, it doesn’t matter, because it wouldn’t be the same, anyway. You fell a little in love with the way she looked at you, at the way she smiles when you grin first. You fell in love with falling in love with each other, alongside falling in love with just _her_. And now you’re tied up in both, with ropes that tighten every time you try to fight your way out.

 

                It still doesn’t matter. This is the way it is, this is the way it will be until something changes. Either she’ll give (and she never will), or you’ll find a way out (and, well).

**Author's Note:**

> actual document name: cops in love (cant admit it)


End file.
